Tastes Like Tequila
by sensatsu
Summary: Three of the boys go out to a gay bar and Stan realizes he has a bit of a possessive streak. Not established!Style with the barest hint of K2.


Title: "Tastes Like Tequila"

Author: sensatsu

Fandom: South Park

Genre: Romance, Smut, Humor

Rating: R

Pairing: Style (Stan/Kyle)

Warnings: Underage drinking, illegal shenanigans, copious swearing, sex

Summary: What Kenny thought of as a "good time" usually meant actions of questionable legality. Fortunately, his ideas sometimes turned out pretty well.

Author's Note: Inspired by http :/ style-fans. deviantart .com/favourites/?38549390#/d2wr2vi on deviantArt.

"No fucking way, dude."

Kyle crossed his arms and glared at their whore of a friend while Stan just tried to suppress a laugh at his expense. Kenny had wrangled them into this "Super Awesome Night Out Without The Fatass" with only a little bit of guilting them for their participation in many of his childhood deaths, but now that he was trying to dress them "appropriately" for the evening Kyle was throwing a bitch fit. Of course, Kenny said as much.

"Just put them on...seriously, you'll thank me later," he said, waving the pair of black leather pants in front of the redhead's face. Stan flopped down on the bed, not having been picked on just yet since Kyle was being so difficult about Kenny's selected ensemble.

To be fair to Kyle, the pants did look unnaturally tight. To be fair to Kenny, Stan was pretty sure they would look amazing on his Super Best Friend.

He and Kyle had been friends since birth, but things had just sort of changed when they got to high school. Maybe it was when Kyle cut back his massive Jew fro and took on a more sophisticated (but still fucking adorable) style. Maybe it was after he realized that having Wendy's hand down his pants was less exciting than having a sleepover at the Broflovski house. Or maybe it had been there for longer than that, and he'd just slowly come to realize how much he really wanted his Super Best Friend.

Kyle wasn't the only one who'd changed over the years; Stan had grown to be a little over six feet tall, dwarfing the redhead's five feet eight inches. He'd filled out a little more than Kyle, too, his football practices and mandatory weight training with the team giving him a sturdier build than the slender Jew.

Cartman, of course, had never really changed in the sense that he was still a fatass and a dick to everyone around him. They still put up with him, out of habit now more than anything, but there were times when the three of them had to get away from him and do something that didn't make their souls hurt with the sheer amount of stupidity they suffered from while in the fat bastard's presence.

Kenny had probably made the most dramatic change of them all - not only had he abandoned his orange coveralls, but he had completely changed his lifestyle as well. After moving out of his parents' place because of their drinking, he'd couch-surfed at Butters' for a while (and gotten some while he was at it) and had started working at the local casino. It was there that he met his first "patron", and after that Kenny's life was a little more interesting. Clubs, parties, new clothes and plenty of spending money, not to mention the fact that Kenny was getting enough sex to make every guy in their junior class jealous.

Yeah, they didn't call him a whore for nothing.

Stan returned to reality to see that Kyle's unholy fury had finally won against Kenny's sex-pants, and his Super Best Friend had changed into a pair of bright green skinny jeans and an orange zip-up hoodie. Kenny just rolled his eyes at Stan's simple attire, telling him that where they were going the dress code was not "basic dick" and that he'd probably stick out like a sore thumb...of course, once Stan flipped him the bird he decided to call it a lost cause and usher them out so the night could begin.

They took the bus into the city and from there took a cab to the downtown area where all the best clubs and bars were. Stan wasn't too worried, but when he saw where Kenny was leading them (and the enormous, neon pink sign hanging over the door...and the ladies who might actually be dudes chilling just outside) he felt a little uncomfortable. It wasn't that he didn't like the thought of going to a gay bar - the fact that he had a massive crush on his Super Best Friend sort of made his sexuality a given - but he was worried about Kyle. What if Kyle was straight? He'd only ever dated girls, so it was a definite possibility. Furthermore (and this would probably be worse), what if Kyle wasn't straight but ended up getting swept up by some other, more handsome guy inside the bar?

Stan snuck a glance at the redhead and saw that he was still glaring ahead at Kenny, who'd sashayed up to the bouncer and was standing way too close to him while murmuring something in his ear. It only took a few seconds of what was probably dirty promises for later and then they were ushered into a world of pounding bass and flashing lights.

Kenny dragged them right up to the bar, ordering two tequila sunrises from a man wearing a mesh shirt. Stan took his drink and began sipping it slowly, glad that the taste didn't immediately repulse him. Kenny ordered a soda for himself and they all moved over to find an empty table.

Somewhere between their second and third drinks, Kenny jumped up and moved onto the dance floor; Stan was caught between watching his friend practically molest the other young men with whom he was dancing and staring at Kyle who appeared to be intently focused on his drink.

"Hey, dude. Are you okay?" he asked, reaching out to touch Kyle's shoulder but withdrawing at the last second because that could be weird given their current venue. The redhead just nodded and gave him a little smile, and Stan was just about to ask if he wanted to dance when Kenny sauntered up and dragged him away.

So not cool.

Stan glared over his near-empty third drink, his fingers tightening around it as he watched Kenny's hands blatantly grope Kyle's ass. What they were doing could hardly be called dancing...it was more like having sex on the dance floor while clothed.

He drained his drink and set it down on the table, getting up and storming a bit clumsily toward the pair as a reel of Kenny's past deaths played in his mind along with which he could make look like an accident. He walked up behind Kyle and pulled him against his chest, glaring at Kenny over his shoulder and watching as the bastard smirked before slipping away into the crowd.

"St-Stan?" Kyle stammered, turning his head to look up at him. Stan just slid his hands around to press against Kyle's stomach and crush him against his body. The redhead made a little squeaking sound, which only spurred Stan onward. He attached his lips to the slender, pale neck and nibbled until he drew a moan out of Kyle.

"You don't get to dance with anyone else," he growled.

"Even Kenny?" Kyle asked, his voice trembling as much as his legs.

"Especially Kenny."

Stan rolled his hips against Kyle's, sucking a mark into his neck and sliding a hand down to press at the front of his skinny jeans where he could already feel his arousal forming. He groaned and thrust his hips forward into the gentle curve of the redhead's ass, drawing a gasp out of him in the process.

"What do you say we step outside?" he murmured against Kyle's neck, grabbing his hand and leading him off the dance floor so they could go out to where they could hear each other better.

There was no way Stan wanted to miss any of the delicious sounds Kyle could make for him.

They probably needed to talk about this, but the Jew had other activities in mind as he pulled Stan close and kissed him with all the desperation of someone who'd waited for years for something like this to happen. Stan reciprocated without hesitation, slowly backing Kyle into the wall outside the bar and slipping a leg between his to grind against him properly for the first time. Kyle slipped his hands into his hair, moaning into his open mouth and hooking a leg around his hip to increase the level of friction between them.

Stan picked Kyle up and pinned him to the wall, pressing into him and ravishing his mouth as he rocked his hips steadily against his. He groaned and dropped his head to Kyle's shoulder, breathing harshly against his neck as he felt his cock twitch from its need to be buried inside the intensely warm body that had been tempting him for so long.

All of a sudden, Kyle stopped moving and his head drooped to lay on Stan's shoulder. Stan panicked - was Kyle afraid of taking this any further? Had he suddenly come to his senses and realized he didn't want to be doing this with Stan of all people? Had he wanted to do this sort of thing with Kenny instead?

No. None of those things had happened and were all a product of Stan's vivid imagination.

Kyle had just passed out.

Understandably, Stan freaked out. Kyle was hanging completely limp in his arms, and people were starting to look at him funny.

"I didn't put anything in his drink. I swear," he said nervously to passersby. "He's my best friend...he's diabetic!" he cried.

It was at that moment that Kenny stumbled out of the club and chuckled at the sight of them.

"Wow. Just wow."

Stan's head snapped around so he could glare daggers at Kenny, who didn't even flinch back. In fact, he just shrugged like this was an everyday thing.

"Hey dude, don't blame me. Well, sort of blame me. But Kyle's the one who drank it."

Stan almost let go of his Super Best Friend so he could attack Kenny, but then he remembered that Kyle needed him so he could stay vertical.

"What. Did. You. Do?" he hissed. Kenny just chuckled.

"Dude, I didn't do anything...that whiskey sour was what did it."

Stan's eyes narrowed further. "So you didn't drug him?"

"Dude, hell no. Señor Cuervo just doesn't like it when you cheat on him."


End file.
